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Yellowstone Park in 1898 



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Copyright, 1918, by John H. AtWood 


Friz 

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JUL 12 1918 



©Ci.A501139 




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Yellowstone Park in 1898 

By John H. Atwood 

I recognize that bad form is rarely more per¬ 
fectly manifest than when one apologizes for that 
which one is about to attempt; but there are some 
things the essaying of which violates no propriety, 
and yet are so disproportionate to the powers of 
mediocrity that humility may be entirely seemly 
—and for that matter most things in nature 
are too near the infinite in minuteness of detail 
or magnitude of mass to be successfully ap¬ 
proached with the pencil or verbiage of portrait¬ 
ure. Speaking of South America, Buckle said: “It 
is too great for man—its mountains are too high 
to climb, its rivers are too wide to span”; so can 
we say of all nature in her greater moods; she is 
beyond man’s power of description or control. I 
have seen a storm at sea; for five days I was in 
what, on the log of the steamship Victoria, was 
entered as a hurricane, and yet if I had an apos¬ 
tolic power of tongue I could not give one unac¬ 
quainted with the ocean even the smallest concep¬ 
tion of what those days marked deep upon my 
memory. I could tell you that the waves seemed 
like mountains of water—that the huge liner would 
rush up the long, foam-flecked slope of brine till it 
seemed that the ship must be shrouded in the 
clouds—and, on the billow’s crest, pause for a 
moment, and then plunge down into the swirling 
depths until it almost seemed that the nadir must 
be reached; but though I multiplied metaphors and 


4 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


marshaled words in multitudes, yet you could not 
know the dizzy upward rush nor the sickening 
downward plunge—nor the roar of the storm, nor 
the crash of the waves on the vessel's side, nor the 
wild and eerie shrieking of the wind in the ship's 
metallic rigging. So it is with the wonders of the 
Yellowstone—they are wider than words, mightier 
than metaphors—sublime beyond similitudes, and 
too marvelous to be told of withal. And yet it 
seems to me a duty that devolves upon everyone 
who visits this place to tell of it as best he can 
that others may be induced to journey to this 
northern wonder land, and come to know more of 
the minuteness and majesty of Nature's creative 
power. 

It is now some fifteen years ago that I first met 
Prof. Gooch, of the Yale faculty. I was a caller 
at the house of the gentleman, who, poor man, 
came, a little time thereafter, to call me son-in- 
law ; a title that had already been bestowed 
upon the Professor. Gooch had some years 
before been employed by the government to do the 
work of a chemical expert for one of the govern¬ 
ment surveys of the Park. In some manner the 
subject of the Park was introduced, and the Pro¬ 
fessor at once grew enthusiastic, and could I tell 
you of it as he did, you would be instructed 
indeed. From that time I had a great desire 
to see the Yellowstone, but the desire was not 
gratified until last summer. 

Many well-informed people there are that do not 
know that lying in the northwest part of the 
Louisiana Purchase, appropriating parts of Wyom¬ 
ing, Idaho and Montana, is a region that embraces 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


5 


within a space of some fifty or sixty miles, more 
marvelous things than can be found in any other 
space a thousand times its size, if in truth the 
whole world can furnish forth their equals. 

This land can be reached by many routes; I 
chose the Burlington from Kansas City, and the 
country through which runs the C. B. & Q. is a 
beautiful land indeed. During the first day’s run 
through northern Kansas and southeastern Ne¬ 
braska it was hot enough to transform everybody 
into a warm spring of perspiration, but the scenes 
from the car windows were pleasant to look upon. 

For miles we looked out through the heat haze 
upon alternating stretches of billowing wheat, 
yellow ripe, ready for the shuttle-like blades of the 
harvester; and long deep lines of growing corn, 
standing like ranks of drilled hussars, with waving 
dolmans of Lincoln green—side by side stood the 
ripe wheat and growing corn—the gold of fruition 
touching garment hems with the emerald of vigor¬ 
ous promise. 

The second morning we woke in a land of de¬ 
licious coolness, of wide sweeps of prairie and 
rolling but treeless uplands—with a sameness to it 
like the sameness of the sea—till in the afternoon 
we came to the rougher and bolder outlines that 
mark the country of the Little Big Horn. And 
there, off to the right, on the hillside, gleaming 
white in the light of the sinking sun, we saw the 
headstones and monuments that mark the place 
where Custer and his men fell in the now famous 
battle of the Little Big Horn. Those marble 
marking stones, clustered as they were without 
order, were like a group of snowy chess men, left 


6 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


standing as they were, when the two grim players 
in the terrible game of war, Fate and Disaster, 
rose from that bloody board. That night we rolled 
into Billings, Montana, a pretty town of six or 
eight thousand people, bounded on three sides by 
perpendicular cliffs of some considerable height. 
We had three hours to wait, and after eating a 
sorry meal at a hostelry with an imposing name, 
we took a night sleeper for Livingston, a town 
some miles to the west on the Northern Pacific. 
We arrived there in the night, and looked out in 
the morning upon snow-clad mountains that 
seemed near enough to be touched almost; and not 
alone did we see them, but felt them as well, for 
the cold was so piercing as to cause a Kaw- 
mouther to think of the winter solstice with a 
vengeance. Our fast we broke at a less preten¬ 
tious but more nutritious hostelry a block from the 
depot. We left Livingston early in the forenoon, 
and for something over an hour rode through 
scenes which alone would have paid for the trip. 
We passed through a two thousand foot canon 
into Paradise Valley, a rather extravagant name 
for a very pretty stretch between the mountains 
which rose majestically on either side. We then 
struck Yankee Jim gorge or canon, the height of 
whose cliffs would startle prairie-bred men. To 
the right is the Devil’s slide, a smooth belt of trap 
rock, reaching in a slant from the foot to the top 
of the mountain. Descensus Averni facilis must 
have been thought of by Tullius after having had 
a vision of this Beelzebub’s toboggan. We then 
arrived at Cinnabar, the railroad station nearest 
the park, a little hamlet that takes its name from 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


7 


the mountains near which it stands, which in turn 
get their names from the mineral, reddish in color, 
appearing on all sides. 

As we stepped upon the platform, up swept a 
handsome six-in-hand Concord coach, wheels, trap¬ 
pings and horses’ coats glistening in the sunshine, 
and into the coach we climbed for a nine-mile up¬ 
hill drive to Mammoth Hot Springs. The road 
wound up the mountain beside Gardner River, 
which boiled and brawled many feet below. The 
view from any part of the road was inspiring; 
crags and peaks and snow and purple sky, the rol¬ 
licking, yelling river, and wide-pinioned eagles 
sweeping to and fro* 

In time for a rather late luncheon we drove up 
to the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel, a huge 
frame building covering considerable ground and 
four stories high. Here one found accommoda¬ 
tions good enough for anyone; the beds are com¬ 
fortable, and the food and service good. The 
afternoon is spent in examining hot springs forma¬ 
tion. “Formation” is the name given to the re¬ 
sults of the building done by the hot waters, bear¬ 
ing in solution carbonate of lime, which is depos¬ 
ited as the waters cool. Here has been built up 
by the deposits of these infinitesimal particles a 
mountain hundreds of feet high. It has been so 
built as to form a series of terraces, ranging from 
a few feet to many feet in height. On each of the 
terraces of the new or more recently built part of 
the mountain—what one might call the live part— 
is a boiling spring, bubbling up hot and steaming 
out of unknown depths to flow away to the edge 
and over it, to cool and make its granular deposits. 


8 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


The water is as clear as absolute purity, and yet 
bears in its clear transparent waves that which 
builds and tints a mountain. I say tints, for while 
the prevailing color of the formation is white, 
parts of it are dyed from salmon pink to terra 
cotta, in the most exquisite shading. All sorts of 
fantastic shapes are taken by these strangely form¬ 
ing terraces so that they look like white or blush¬ 
ing marble carved by some Arab chiseler, into 
arabesque surpassing in delicacy and beauty the 
stone lace work of the Alhambra. 

At a distance, the mountain shows pure white, 
glistening and bright; as one gazes one thinks of 
the description of the holy city—“like a jewel it 
shone, like a jasper stone, clear as crystal, while 
its gates are pearl—even pearl of matchless 
price.” 

The upper part of the mountain is dead; it is 
white, but it is the chalky white of something dead 
with leprosy; its terraces are crumbling. The 
gleaming, steaming mass below and the saline, 
sepulchral mass above are the quick and dead of 
volcanic nature. It is said that those terraces are 
alone in the world—absolutely unique; now that 
the formation in new South Wales has been de¬ 
stroyed, they are the only structures extant, built 
by bubbling waters. Near the foot of the terraces 
stands Liberty Cap, a stone cone, about fifty feet 
high, built by some long since silenced spring, 
shaped like a Phygian cap, and hence the name. 

We looked into the Devil’s Kitchen, but were 
deterred from investigating Satanic cuisine by a 
blast of hot and sulphurous air. We drank of the 
cooling waters of these steaming springs, and 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


9 


found them sweet to the taste. These terraces are 
all named and very appropriately; some of them I 
remember, but not all. There is Pulpit Terrace, 
Minerva, Jupiter and Angel; this last being by 
many feet the highest; and as we stood at its foot, 
and looked up the shimmering height with the thin 
veil of water pouring over it, it looked like a slow- 
moving cascade of moulten glass flowing over a 
cliff in the marble quarries of Carrara. 

Tired by our tramp we returned to the hotel to 
dine and rest. This last we did within warm over¬ 
coats, seated upon the wide veranda, looking 
toward a collection of government buildings digni¬ 
fied by the name of Fort Yellowstone. This is the 
headquarters of the United States troop kept al¬ 
ways in the Park to protect the game from de¬ 
struction, and the works of nature from vandalism. 

The next morning we were waiting for the 
wagon at eight o’clock and in getting ready we 
had to solve the clothing question. And let me 
now say that the best time to make the trip is late 
in June or early in July. I was there Fourth of 
July week; circumstances selected the time of my 
going, and did it much more wisely than I could 
then have possibly done. At that time of year 
you may run some risk of encountering cold 
weather or perhaps a storm, though this risk is 
not great, but you avoid the terrible, terrific, and 
appalling dust that haunts as a demon almost 
every mile of the road, later in the season. The 
dust is something terrible as described by all, and 
as I know from one half day’s experience. The 
coach horses cannot endure to do their work at 
the dusty season for more than a few weeks, when 


10 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


they are sent to pasture and replaced by fresh 
ones. But late in June the forces of the frost have 
been pretty well dispersed and the dust is not yet. 
You should take with you two suits of clothing, 
and two pairs of shoes; hack suit and heavy shoes, 
for the walks from the road to see the various 
sights is hard on footwear, and the dirt of the 
journey will ruin good clothes. Do not burden 
yourself with heavy coats; they have for rental at 
the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel heavy driver’s 
ulsters which will protect from the cold more per¬ 
fectly than most overcoats. A coat such as one 
would want to carry is too good to be subjected to 
the treatment the park journey will give an outer 
wrap. These great coats are worn by ladies as 
well as men, and while not handsome are pre¬ 
ferred by the experienced traveler. 

Up come the wagons. They are large, roomy 
Concord coaches with three seats, and a wide seat 
for the driver. Each seat can accommodate three 
persons, but is not required to accommodate but 
two, and as the seats are cushioned and uphol¬ 
stered with leather, one can travel at ease. Our 
party comprised two coach loads. In my coach 
was Mrs. Atwood and myself, a native and citizen 
of Johannesburg, South Africa, very English, 
named Hay, and his sister, and three others. On 
leaving the hotel the road winds around the base 
of Angel terrace, which in the morning sunlight 
looks more than ever like the crystal mountain of 
a fairy tale. 

After making a little dip we began another long 
climb passing through the Golden Gate. Why it is 
so called, I can’t guess, unless it is because that is 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


11 


its name. The road for a long way is cut out of 
the rocky mountain side, and for a mile or more 
you ride where a mishap to your vehicle would 
mean being dashed to waters boiling over boulders a 
thousand feet below. The climb finished, we found 
ourselves in Swan Lake Valley, a valley seven 
thousand feet above the level of the sea. Along 
this basin we bowled until we encountered Apol- 
linaris Spring, a spring that they told me was as 
good apollinaris water as one can buy in bottles, 
but as I never drank apollinaris water by itself I 
did not attempt to judge. Next we encountered 
Obsidian Cliff or glass mountain. This is a sure 
enough mountain of glass, nearly black in color, 
that glistens in the sun like black diamonds. Un¬ 
derstand, this is a mountain of glass—manufac¬ 
tured in the vast manufactory of nature. In 
making the road it became necessary to remove a 
spur of this cliff, and instead of blasting, the road- 
makers simply build huge fires about it, and after 
so heating, threw water on it, and the sudden con¬ 
tracting did the work of blasting power and dyna¬ 
mite. This mountain of glass was the nucleus of 
the many strange tales that for years after the 
Lewis and Clark Expedition came to' the East 
from this region, about crystal mountains. There 
is also in the park petrified trees, and in a few 
places the silica-laden water has been drawn, by 
capillary attraction, up into sage brush and other 
bushes, silica-laden water which form on the out¬ 
side crystal-like drops, gave rise to stories strange 
indeed. It was reported that acres of sage brush 
bore on their branches diamonds, and all manner 
of jewels, and that among these jewel-bearing 


12 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


shrubs crouch petrified rabbits, wolves and bears. 
In a word, the tales that came forth from this 
land would make the Baron Munchausen seem like 
a worshiper at the shrine of veracity. 

At noon we reached the canvas lunch station 
known as Norris Geyser Basin or Norris Station. 
There we were met by Larry, the incomparable 
and inimitable manager of this cloth-roofed tavern. 
He was a character indeed, with a different greet¬ 
ing for everybody. “How do you do all? God 
bless your souls, come in, come in!” was his salu¬ 
tation to us. To my traveling companion from 
South Africa with his English clothes and accent 
he said, “Come in, me Lord, come in. How is 
the Queen and yourself, bedad?” At the table the 
Englishman got to kicking about something until 
he was overwhelmed by a speech from Larry some¬ 
thing like this: “Me friend, ye grieve me; you 
are setting in the very same chair, at the very 
same place, where two years ago me friend, 
Chauncey Depew, stood when he said, ‘Larry/ he 
says, ‘ye are a blessing to the world; when I came/ 
he said, ‘to this wild and tangled wilderness, where 
the hand of man never set foot/ he says, ‘I little 
thought to find a man like Larry Casey/ he says, 
‘who is a man of great charity/ he says, ‘for/ he 
says, ‘Larry will give you anything he has if ye 
only give him the price/ he says; ‘and a man of 
nerve and courage is Larry/ he says, ‘for he 
comes up here among the mountain peaks, where 
the lightning raises the devil, and then puts up his 
prices beyant the mountain tops, and without put¬ 
ting any lightning rods on them, either/ he says; 
‘why, talk about courage/ he says, ‘see the seegars 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


13 


he sells to perfect strangers, not knowing if they 
be dangerous men or no; sure Larry is a warm 
member/ he says; ‘them geysers be hot stuff/ he 
says, ‘but they ain’t in it with Larry/ he says. 
No, me friend/’ continued Larry, “don’t kick at 
me, please, for I am an angel in disguise; I’m 
bound to admit the disguise is a pretty good one, 
but still I’m an angel, or will be when I have a 
change of life, and, anyway, I am willing to be 
one when I die,” and so on, almost without end. 

The Norris Geyser Basin gives the first view of 
the spouters. A walk of about a mile and a half 
gives an opportunity to see most things to be seen 
at this point. Climbing a low ridge you look down 
into what might well be the valley and the shadow. 
The basin into which you look is pitted with hot 
spring craters filled with ever-boiling water; sev¬ 
eral small geysers are here; one is called the Con¬ 
stant or Minute Man, for every minute up shoots 
a little jet of water thirty or forty feet. The black 
growler is here—a black-throated opening which 
emits puffs of steam, and a roar that can be heard 
afar. But the feature of this basin that struck 
me the most forcibly was the baby geyser, which is 
only four or five years old. There can still be seen 
the raw and unhealed rent in the earth where this 
geyser burst through; there are the dead trees, 
killed at the time, mute monuments of the geyser’s 
destructive heat. The outrush of water at this 
point is considerable, but the altitude to which it is 
thrown is not great. 

Taking the coach again we proceeded through 
Gibbons Canon; the road gently declines until 
Gibbons Fall is reached, which led me to remark 


14 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


that this was Gibbons’s Decline and Fall, but no¬ 
body noticed the remark, and I subsided. 

Sweeping down out of the canon we sighted and 
soon arrived at the Fountain Hotel. This is in 
the Lower Geyser Basin, which contains some of 
the most wonderful features of the whole park. 
We had hardly cleansed ourselves from the stains 
of travel when a cry attracted our attention. We 
looked from the window to see the famous 
Fountain Geyser in full play, but so far away 
that the full effect could not be obtained. 
When we arrived at the spot we found a great 
well-like opening nearly thirty feet across, from 
which presently rushed a great mass of water, not 
to a great height, not over forty or fifty feet, but 
spreading out in a fan-like fountain and producing 
an effect simply indescribable. The whole mass 
of water seemed disintegrated into drops, and 
standing as I was with my back to the sun, the 
whole seemed transformed into a multitude of bril¬ 
liants; the volume of water is considerable. The 
controlling impression created was one of sur¬ 
passing beauty. There are many other hot springs 
round about and for acres around nothing can be 
seen but the geyserite or chemically formed rocks. 

Near by is what is to my mind one of the most 
remarkable things to be found in the whole park, 
and that is what is called the paint pots. Prof. 
Gooch had told me of them, but I failed to grasp 
anything like an idea of the reality, and I fear I 
shall be able to serve you to but little better pur¬ 
pose. They are well named, for nothing in nature 
or art can more perfectly resemble paint than the 
substance seen in the basins called the paint pots. 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


15 


There are many of them near Fountain geyser, 
but the greatest is what is called the Mammoth 
Paint Pot. Imagine a circular basin some fifty 
feet in diameter, some fifty feet across, surrounded 
by a ridge of clay four or five feet high, and per¬ 
haps a little more, looking for all the world like 
the outer rim of a huge circus ring. This rim 
confines a mass of this paint, liquid and boiling. 
So perfect is the resemblance to the lead paint of 
commerce that when a quizzical soldier told me 
that all the buildings in the park were painted 
with paint taken from this pot, I bethought me of 
glass mountains, and apollinaris springs, and never 
dreamed of doubting the statement until I hap¬ 
pened to think that none of the buildings were 
painted white, and then looked for and saw the 
twinkle in my informant’s eye. This mass is com¬ 
posed of finely granulated clay, fine as the finest 
flour, and mixed with boiling water to the con¬ 
sistency of that which we see in the house painter’s 
bucket. From a furnace far down in the earth 
steam is constantly sent up to keep the giant 
cauldron bubbling; from all over its surface little 
jets of steam are constantly leaping, and in their 
upward rush they carry little flecks of paint that 
on falling back on the mass take the most remark¬ 
able shapes—roses, lilies, lace work, but more 
often the shape identical with that of an egg when 
broken into the skillet for frying. When I say 
rose, I mean it appears as though you were look¬ 
ing down upon the open blossom of a full blown 
rose. And to stand and watch this steam model¬ 
ing in clay suggests thermal possibilties that the 
ordinary imagination could but imperfectly grasp. 


16 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


Other colors than white are here—red is here, in 
every shade from blush pink to royal purple. Sur¬ 
rounding the mammoth paint pot are many others 
with gamuts of color so complete that were a 
Raphael to here paint the diluvian sunset, with the 
bow of promise in the sky, he would never find 
his palette wanting a single tint. The beauty and 
strangeness of the paint pots, and the brilliant 
loveliness of the Fountain geyser made the stay 
at the lower basin a noteworthy day. 

The next morning found us bowling along the 
banks of the Fire-hole River, whereon, in the 
course of an hour or so, we came to the Excel¬ 
sior Geyser. It is in the midst of numerous other 
hot springs of high temperature; and when you 
look down into the pit from which this geyser 
springs when in action, remember you are looking 
into the throat of the greatest geyser in the world. 
The pit is some 250 or 300 feet in diameter. This 
immense column of water is, in eruption, raised to 
the height of 250 feet, and so great is the volume 
of water shot out by this geyser than the great 
Fire-hole River is raised several inches at every 
eruption. If this geyser has played during the 
last few years it has occurred in the winter and 
was not observed. 

Not far from the Excelsior is Turquoise Spring, 
typical and representative of hundreds of tinted 
pools found in the park. They vary in size from 
a few feet to a hundred feet in diameter. They 
are nearly all of the shape of an inverted bell, 
starting from a narrow throat at the bottom, and 
expanding to an extended circle at the top ; all of 
them are warm, and many of them above the boil- 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


17 


ing point. The waters kept therein show every 
shade of blue and green. The green of the sea is 
there, and the green of the new unfolded leaves; 
the tender green of the grasses of June and the 
rich virile green of the sabrelike leaves of the corn. 
This infinity of greens shades into a marvelous 
variety of blues. The blue of the turquoise and the 
blue of the noon-day cloudless heavens shade into 
the darker blue of the star-lit midnight sky. We 
all remember the legend of Cleopatra dissolving 
pearls in the wine cup. As one looks down upon 
the blended splendor of emerald and sapphire flash¬ 
ing to the eye from the depths of these gleaming 
bells, one is almost constrained to believe that 
Dame Nature has here played the part of Egypt’s 
erratic queen, and filled her steaming beakers with 
the distillations of gems and jewels. 

A few miles farther we came to the Upper 
Geyser Basin, a space about four miles square, 
which embraces within its limits more geyser 
springs than all the rest of the world contains. 
There are twenty-five or thirty of sufficient magni¬ 
tude for each to be entitled to pages of description, 
and did any one of them stand alone it would rank 
as an eighth wonder of the world. Never is the 
poverty of language more perfectly manifest than 
when it is employed in an attempt to convey an 
impression of one of these gigantic geysers. The 
first one that I saw was the Bee Hive. Out of 
a cone, some four feet high, and three feet in 
diameter on the inner side, shot a column of water 
of the thickness of the opening, straight up in 
the air two hundred feet; with a roar like a 
thousand steam engines, with the rushing sound 


18 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


of a hundred sluice ways, with a power too tre¬ 
mendous for possible calculation, that column of 
water rushes up into the air to a height equal to 
the mighty monument that crowns the brow of 
Bunker Hill. It played, as I remember, for about 
ten minutes; at the distance of several hundred 
yards I viewed it, and then running to its side, 
touched the up-shooting water with my hand 
and thus grasped some notion of the overwhelm¬ 
ing, unconquerable force that made of that mass of 
upward moving liquid, a crystal tree two hundred 
feet high. For very like a tree it was with a trunk, 
smooth and unbroken for one hundred and fifty 
feet, and then breaking into a spreading top not at 
all unlike the upper part of some beautiful elm 
that grows in perfected beauty by the banks of the 
Connecticut. But while the Bee Hive and the 
Giant, and the Splendid, and the Grand, may leap 
to greater heights, the most marvelous of all these 
geysers is Old Faithful. 

Every hour and a little more, every seventy min¬ 
utes, to be exact, with the regularity and constancy 
of the sun, Old Faithful sends a column of gleam¬ 
ing water, two and a half to three feet in diameter, 
to a height of one hundred and fifty feet. Old 
Faithful is no misnomer. In the gray of early 
morning, in the blazing splendor of noon, amid the 
golden glories of the sunset, and in the silvery 
sheen woven in the loom of Diana, can be seen 
gleaming Old Faithful’s column of crystal and 
gems; in the green of the spring time and the 
russet of the autumn, and when the snow pall of 
winter is drawn over nature’s rugged face, this 
mighty clepsydra, this mighty water clock of the 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


19 


ages, hurls its sparkling pillar to meet the lances 
of the sun or the onward rush of the cohorts of the 
storm. 

Another notable geyser is the Castle. It sends 
its water to a height of two hundred and fifty feet, 
but it is not the altitude to which its waters rise 
that makes it so worthy of observation; it leaps 
from a great mass of accumulated geyserite not 
unlike an ancient castle in form, and plays for a 
period of some twenty minutes, when it is followed 
by eruptions of steam, without water, with a roar 
that can be heard far away. 

It would be a task that approximates the impos¬ 
sible to describe in detail each of the springs found 
within this basin. The description of one is bound 
to be very like the description of another, and while 
one can wander from geyser cone to geyser cone, 
and gaze upon the awe-inspiring splendors that 
ascend from these steaming bowls, such descrip¬ 
tions as I can muster might pall in a little time. 
The beautiful pools of which I spoke some min¬ 
utes since are found scattered through this basin 
among the geysers as well as many other parts of 
the park. The naming of the springs is in most 
instances very apt. For instance, there is one 
called Economic Geyser because, strange to relate, 
not a drop of water that is upward thrown is lost 
from the well from which it is shot, but drops back 
into the basin from which it springs, and after the 
eruption is over, sinks away into the earth again. 

On the morning of the fifth, we bade our final 
farewell to Fountain Valley and quickly arrived 
at the Upper Geyser Basin where we had spent the 
day before. It was our good forture as we swept 


20 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


through this basin to see five geysers play at once. 
Old Faithful, the Bee Hive, the Castle, the Jewel 
and the Fan; and as I gazed upon their leaping 
splendors, I bethought me of the time when in 
Paris many years before I had gone all the way to 
Versailles for the express purpose of seeing the 
Versailles fountains play; and while they were 
magnificent they sink into insignificance when com¬ 
pared with the aqueous wonders of the Yellow¬ 
stone. 

The larger part of the day is consumed by a not 
very interesting ride to Yellowstone Lake. One of 
the interesting thoughts that accompanies one on 
this ride is that one is passing over the continental 
divide where the head waters of the Columbia, 
that empties into the Pacific, part company, as it 
were, with the head waters of the Yellowstone, 
that after numberless miles of wandering finally 
find their way into the hoary arms of the Atlantic. 

About half way of the journey one comes upon 
a magnificent view of the sentinel peaks of the 
Teton mountains, fifty miles away, towering seven 
thousand feet higher than where you stand and 
fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. 

A little past noon you arrive at what is known as 
the thumb of Yellowstone Lake. The whole lake 
is in its outline not unlike the shape of a man’s 
hand, when outspread, and the part which we 
approached first was the part called the thumb. 
Here we encountered another canvas lunch stand, 
and found here a series of paint pots as beautiful, 
if not as large as those we found in the Fountain 
Valley. Pink was the prevailing color and the 
shading was exquisite. Close by the shore of the 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


21 


lake at this point is one of the scalding springs, its 
urn lying partly within the lake proper. There are 
doubtless other places in the park where it can be 
done, but this was the only point where I actually 
saw fish caught and cooked without the fisherman 
moving from his tracks. The water of the lake 
so teem with fish that to catch one is a task with¬ 
out labor, and if one stands close by the scalding 
bowl when doing his angling, he has only to turn 
and drop his still wriggling catch into the hot water 
at his side to have it cooked as perfectly as could 
be done in any pot that ever swung on crane, or 
that demonstrated the efficiency of the modern gas 
stove. 

Here it was that we were brought to a com¬ 
plete realization of the actuality of the water’s 
heat, for as we drove to the hotel we encountered 
another vehicle being driven with such care as to 
excite comment, when inquiry disclosed that its 
chief occupant was a poor fellow who had some 
days before fallen into one of the boiling springs 
in the neighborhood, and so cooked the flesh from 
his limbs below the knees, that amputation was 
deemed a necessity and he was being removed to 
the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel for better treat¬ 
ment. 

Shortly after lunch you encounter the irrepressi- 
ple Captain Waters, who is owner and manager 
and pilot of the only steamboat on Lake Yellow¬ 
stone. 

She is a trim little craft, capable of accommodat¬ 
ing a couple of hundred, I suppose, and apparently 
in perfect repair. You are a little startled when 
you are informed that in order to test her many 


22 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


qualities you have to give up three dollars, but 
the average man will think as I did, I suppose, 
that three dollars can be gotten somehow most any 
time, but a ride on the second highest body of 
water in the world is not an every-day possibility. 

This is a sheet of water with an area of one hun¬ 
dred and fifty square miles and lacking about one 
hundred feet of being eight thousand feet above 
the level of the sea. Only one body of water in the 
world is higher, and that is Lake Titicaca in South 
America. An experience such as this was not to 
be missed, and giving up a trinity of dollars we 
sailed away over a surface nearly eight thousand 
feet higher than the waters that lap the base of 
the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor; more 
than seven thousand feet higher than the great 
unsalted seas that bear on their surface the com¬ 
merce of Chicago, Detroit and Buffalo; seven 
thousand feet higher than the level on which live 
and move seventy million of people who proclaim 
themselves American citizens. 

As we sped over the lake surface, a more perfect 
ida of the topography of the whole park was ob¬ 
tained. It could be there seen that on all sides of 
the plateau or basin which is embraced in the park 
limits tower mountain ranges from ten to fourteen 
thousand feet in height, making indeed a mountain 
wall that the hardiest could hardly climb. Away 
to the east as we sailed could be seen the sleeping 
giant of the Tetons, for clearly outlined against the 
skies was the upturned face of a sleeping man. 
Brow and nose and mouth and chin were there, 
upturned to the clear and flashing sunlight of this 
upper region. The mountains whose configuration 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


23 


made this face were fifty to one hundred miles 
away, and yet no sculptor who wielded mallet in 
the Valley of the Nile, or wrought his wonders 
beneath the shadow of the Acropolis, ever more 
perfectly outlined a man’s face than has the un¬ 
numbered chisels of the rain, driven by the hand 
of the storm, carved a human face among these 
far off mountain tops. There the giant of the 
peaks has slumbered since the days when the earth 
was young; when Semiramis ruled in Babylon, 
when Memnon sang to the morning, when Rameses 
reared aloft his huge towers of stone in the rain¬ 
less air of Egypt, the silent slumberer of the Yel¬ 
lowstone still lay with face turned to the sky; 
there he slept when thrones crumbled beneath the 
blaze of Napoleonic batteries, and when again 
these thrones were built anew from the ruins of the 
great Corsican’s Empire; and there he rested 
when Lexington and Yorktown gave to us a coun¬ 
try which we pray may be permitted to continue 
until the final day of dissolution shall dissolve the 
mountain couch upon which this world-old slum¬ 
berer has lain so long. 

The hotel which stands close by the Lake is like 
that found at the Fountain and at the Mammoth 
Hot Springs, excellent in every way, and after a 
pleasant meal we again boarded the steamer for a 
run to an island where are gathered the animals 
that are indigenous to the park. There were the 
mountain sheep, buffalo and antelope, but the 
most interesting of all to me were the huge bison, 
being among the last of those vast hordes that 
used to wander over the prairies of the West. A 
moonlight sail across the lake, returning to the 


24 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


hotel, was delightful indeed, although the keen 
mountain air made all our outer wraps exceedingly 
comfortable. 

The next morning found us again aboard our 
coach, and after a ride of an hour or so we came 
upon one of the most peculiar features to be found 
within the Park. It is called a mud geyser or mud 
volcano. Climbing up the cone twenty-odd feet 
high, evidently reared by the action of the geyser, 
we looked down into the conical pit probably thirty 
feet in depth, at one side of which was a low cav¬ 
ern-like opening. The bottom of the pit was filled 
with a slate-colored mud of about the consistency 
of soft mortar, and every minute or so there would 
rush from the cavern-like opening a gush of steam 
and hot air that throws the muddy contents of the 
basin high upon its sides and even to the top. The 
odors of this sickening mass are far from pleasant, 
and yet there is a grewsome fascination about the 
place similar to that which is said to have charac¬ 
terized the dark tarn of Auber. 

Another curious feature of this place is that 
within a distance of fifty feet is a spring, possess¬ 
ing all the characteristics that mark the mud 
geyser, except that the waters are as pure as 
crystal. 

Upon leaving the mud geysers we sweep down 
into Hayden Valley, the largest and most pictur¬ 
esque valley in the Park reservation. 

And now we come to the crowning glory of the 
Park, aye, of the natural world. As we rode down 
from the mountain top, the Grand Canon of the 
Yellowstone opened to our view. 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


25 


The Grand Canon of the Yellowstone! The 
most stupendous sight that was ever mirrored on 
human retina! At the upper end is the great fall 
—a mass of foam three hundred and sixty feet 
high, as white as hammered platinum, while from 
its foot, like incense before an altar of silver, rises 
the mist eternally. Down from the falls the canon 
opens; a gorge piled with tower and dome and 
minaret and castellated wall and ragged arch as 
though it were a world wrought upon by a giant 
architect gone mad. Here are unnumbered capi¬ 
tals and columns upholding a mighty mass the 
whole of a yellow, as golden as the temples of the 
Incas whose walls and roofs of beaten gold blazed 
like mighty jewels in the bosom of the Cordilleras; 
there gleaming garish in the sunlight that just 
reaches it, is a pile, white as a whited sepulcher ; 
over beyond is a huge red rock, crimson as an 
Aztec stone of sacrifice reeking with human blood. 
And the color of the whole! Every tint known to 
Titian’s palette is there. The river below bounds 
the bottom of the picture with a framing of ultra- 
marine; black is there and brown; the pinks and 
the purples, orange and ochre; and gray and blue; 
there hangs the blushing banner of the morning, 
and beside it the opalescent gonfalon of the dying 
day; while above and over all, at the cliff’s edge, 
the solemn pines wave forever the dark green 
standard of the Prophet. It is as tho, some titan 
painter had in a rage hurled his colors against the 
canon’s walls where innumerable fairy fingers had 
blent hue with hue into an infinitude of shading 
—into a perfected harmony of color that God alone 
can call into being. In such a presence all speech 


26 


Yellowstone Park in 1898 


seems as sacrilege and silence the only homage 
meet and fitting to be offered up in that faultless 
fane, built by nature in her grandest mood as an 
altar to the Infinite. 

All this of course was not seen in a moment; the 
whole of that afternoon and a good part of the 
following morning was devoted to an imperfect 
study of this wonderful spot. Words cannot de¬ 
scribe it; painters can never portray it; as the 
infinite is beyond the finite mind, so is this perfec¬ 
tion of magnitude and beauty beyond the reach of 
human powers of presentment. Of such a sight 
“the hunger of the eye grows by feeding.” 

Our journey was nearly done and a short ride 
to Norris Basin to receive Larry’s benediction and 
parting word, a little longer ride to the Mammoth 
Hot Springs with a couple of hours for rehabilita¬ 
tion, and we were again on the road by brawling 
Gardner River found for Cinnabar and civili¬ 
zation. 

My parting word to you in connection with this 
subject is, trust no man’s description of this won¬ 
derful place; go see it for yourself, for when you 
have imagined the most indescribable thing that 
lies within the range of your knowledge, multiply 
that description by a thousand, and you may ap¬ 
proximate in your mind in some remote degree that 
which is beyond reproduction by tongue or pen or 
pencil, the might and the marvel of the wondrous 
Yellowstone Park. 








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